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Demi's Thinking Corner
Madeleine Scath Name: Madeleine Scath Age:'''15 '''God Parent: Themis, Nike, Harmonia Mortal Parent: Anthony Scath Appearance: WIP Personality: WIP History: 'Total Word Count (as of 04/25/13; 02:06 AM): 4, 040 words ''History tends to repeat itself, time and time again. It encompasses every man, reawakens long buried emotions and rekindles the flame of excitement and mystery. Many people have tried to do what I am doing right now --- writing themselves into history; leaving behind a record, concrete proof, that they had once walked off the face of this planet we all call home. No, do not confuse this with a journal. I have no intention of revealing to you what I had for breakfast in the past week nor what it is I dream of at night. What you will find here is nothing more than a record, my own account of the life I once led... a life now forever changed. Every story, every plot twist, those unexpected turn of events and sad endings began in the same way: '' "Once upon a time..."'' But this is not a fairy tale where in I get a princess' happily ever after and ride into the sunset with my prince charming. No, this is fact. I am real, therefore, my life's "story" is real... so I will begin differently. "A stormy night in the simple streets of Florence..." That single night is my father's most fondest and cherished memory. It is a night which he often said he would never forget, even after he has passed on to what I used to believe as "Heaven". It was on that stormy night when my parents met. My father, Anthony Scath, was nothing more than a regular mortal, no special powers nor any hint of having clear sight. He was plain... yet somehow, he was extraordinary. My father had everything he wanted at the time. He had good looks (if I may say so), he had wonderful parents and supportive colleagues. He had the brains and the courage to take on high paying and prestigious professions... and yet, for reasons unbeknownst to me, he chose to work as a lawyer in an unknown law firm in Florence. He often told me that Fate tends to mess with your life and your decisions every once and a while. I guess he never knew how right he was... Years of working in a law firm had taught my father to analyze personalities efficiently, to search for even the slightest hint of a lie. My father was a just man and accepted only those who were truly innocent and those who were wrongly accused. In a world where deceit and lies reign, finding someone who is still true to his word and upholds righteousness, justice, honesty and integrity is quite rare... so perhaps that is why my mother chose him, why it was my father whom she became attracted to. My father, or Papa as I would always call him when we were alone, often described my mother as nothing short on beautiful. He had met her when they were both trying to look for shelter from the sudden onslaught of the rain. Both took refuge underneath the shade of a small cafe, dripping wet. Despite being drenched by the cold rain, Papa said that my mother seemed as cheerful as though it were a bright day in Spring. Her smile and warm eyes enticed him and, as they both waited for the rain to clear, they began exchanging stories. Papa always joked around, saying that it was so awkward he could hear the crickets singing.... but as soon as my mother began filling in the painful silence between them, he knew he wouldn't leave until the woman before him did. In a matter of hours, my parents had shared dozens of stories, exchanged millions of words and gone through each other's adventures. Papa always said that he couldn't believe he sat in that cafe for only three hours. To him, it felt like he'd been there for days and he joked that he could have spent eternity sitting in that cafe, merely talking with my mother. But, like everything else, all good things must come to an end. The harsh rain which brought them together soon dissipated, allowing those who were forced to take temporary refuge to return to their homes in peace. My mother stood up from her seat, announcing that she had better head home. Papa did the same not long afterward. However, neither of them moved from their spot. They just stared at each other, waiting for the other to make a move first. Finally my mother plucked off Papa's pen, which he kept on his shirt pocket and bent over the table, hastily writing something on an unused tissue. Papa was tempted to take a peek but didn't get the chance as my mother soon stood up straight and returned Papa's pen to him. With a smile, she handed him the tissue, stating that if he ever wanted to meet up again, he could contact her at the number which she had written down. Papa took the tissue silently and watched as she walked out of the cafe, turning back once to wave at him, and continuing on into the night. ---- Had my father been the one telling you this, he'd have that far-away look in his eyes again and a bittersweet smile would grace his lips. He would stop speaking and his face would get clouded, as though he were re-visiting the memory in his mind. Many times, when I was a kid, I'd have to snap my fingers in front of his face just to get him to continue on. He'd smile down at me, an amused air about him. He'd often say "My, aren't you curious as to what your Papa does after. But no matter, anything for my little princess." He'd give me a light poke on the stomach, making sure I laughed first, before continuing. ---- The moment he got home, he considered giving her a call but decided against it as it was well past midnight when he returned. Days soon passed after the little cafe scene and my Papa had yet to call the woman he met, whose name he learned was Elora. His work demanded his full attention yet he always kept that piece of tissue near him, whether it was inside his shirt pocket or tucked away safely in his desk. He never went anywhere without it, fearing that he'd lose it or one of his assistants would accidentally throw it, thinking it was nothing more than a piece of tissue. ---- I often asked my Papa why he didn't just copy the number onto a much better material, like paper. Papa would just grin at me and say "Why, that's completely different, my little princess. You see, if I transferred the number to a different kind of paper and carry around ''that piece of paper... then it wouldn't be the same feeling as carrying around the tissue!" '' I never truly understood what he was saying but now I do. Papa was talking about the tissue's sentimental value. He kept the small, unimportant material simply because it was something my mother had held and given to him. The number may have already faded but he hold on to it... simply because it reminded him of her. ---- Weeks after, Papa had won yet another case, seemingly with more ease than in his previous cases. That same night, Papa had finally decided to call Elora, thinking that, if she had already forgotten him, he'll do the same and move on. To his great surprise however, she did ''remember him. Feeling a joy he could not explain, Papa asked her if she wanted to meet up, get to know each other more. Elora agreed without hesitation and the two of them made an agreement to see each other at the cafe where they met. ---- ''Papa never did tell me what happened on their little get together but I'm more than sure it went well. He told me that they kept seeing each other every Tuesday and Saturday over the course of the next three months. No matter how hard I asked him to tell me what happened on their little 'outings' though, Papa never told me anything other than how mother seemed to get even more beautiful every time he saw her. '' ''I must admit, six year old me was rather disgusted at how Papa was. He would talk about mom with such sappiness and... mushiness that it made my six year old self want to run to the bathroom and puke. Thinking on it now though, my father was just a regular guy; someone who had fallen in love... and stayed in love. ---- By the time five months passed, Papa had a stable relationship with my mother. He had introduced her to his parents and she was greatly welcomed by the couple. For some odd reason though, Papa couldn't remember anything specific about meeting mother's family despite being certain that he had, indeed, met her side of the family. He pushed the odd feeling to the back of his mind though, and simply focused on the present. ---- Two more months passed by, according to Papa although he told me what happened in those two months was strictly between him and my mother. I dared not ask, not wanting to anger my father with my persistent pestering. He promised me long ago that he'd tell me, one day, what happened in those two months... but I don't think that's quite necessary now. After all, it's quite obvious to me now what they did. ---- Three more months passed. On their ten-month anniversary, my mother announced to Papa that she had to leave, her job requiring her to leave the country. Struck with grief, Papa tried to persuade her to let him come along but mother adamantly refused, saying that his family needed him and that he couldn't just suddenly get up and leave them. After a few more days, Papa relented, knowing that he had to do the right thing and let her go. He spent as much time as he could with Elora but the time came when she had to leave. It was just like that night ten months ago. Papa was rooted to his spot, watching as the woman who made an impact in his world stride towards the gate, stop for a moment to wave goodbye at him, before continuing on to her plane. Papa didn't stay to watch the plane take-off. Losing the person you love was one thing... letting her go was another. ---- Thinking on it now, I'm amazed at how Papa never resented mom. She never called, never answered his emails and texts, she never even told Papa where she was going. She had practically forgotten about Papa... and yet, my father still loved her, even until his last moments. He thought of her every day, visited the places they went to, recounted the days when they'd just sit down at the cafe and talk. Papa waited for her to visit at least once... but she never did. By the time six months had passed, he had completely given up hope that 'Elora' would come back. He tried his best to forget about her... but it's not easy erasing a loved one from your memory, no matter how much they hurt you. He tried getting into other girls, he even went on a date once or twice... but it was to no avail. His heart would belong to my mother and to her alone. ---- Papa got into his work again. He took on numerous cases; burying himself in his work in order to forget about mom. After three months, he finally moved on. He worked hard, earned himself enough money to provide for both himself and his parents, though grandfather and grandmother would always refuse his help, saying that "they may be old but they still got it in them". Papa would always just shrug it off. He believed that his life was finally back on track. That is, until I came along. ~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~ Most parents are never ready for parenthood despite all the precautions and steps they take. I do not believe parenthood is something which one can prepare for. You can only learn to cope, as many living forms cope with changes in their surroundings. My Papa was one of those who coped easily. Papa never really understood how I got to his doorstep, only that he had found me, blessedly asleep, lying inside a basket with a blue envelope beside me. He had asked his neighbors on whether they had seen who it was that left me on his doorstep, but all of them stated that they did not. My Papa had his suspicions on who had left me at his door. He did not want to believe it at first but my uncanny resemblance to him could not be overlooked. Without knowing what to do, Papa simply sat on his bed and placed his head in his hands. Papa told me long ago that had I not stirred in my sleep, he would have stayed in his position for a long time. The sound of movement brought his attention to me and, inevitably, to the letter which came along with me. ---- The contents of that single letter was never shared to me. Papa had always said that it was not meant for my eyes and that what was inside it would not have benefited me in any way. As a child, I guessed that the letter was related to me. To this day, I know not what was written in that single piece of stationery. I presume it is currently with my grandparents back in Florence, safely stored away in a chest along with other possessions which my Papa had cherished. '' ''Perhaps, one day, I will find it in myself to read through that letter. ---- News about me spread like wildfire throughout the entire neighborhood and Papa soon became the subject of gossips. Rumors began spreading and Papa’s reputation began to slowly decline. Word soon got to my grandfather and grandmother, causing them to drive over to Papa’s house and hear the full story from him regarding the matter. Papa tried his best to explain everything but he himself was confused. After all, how could a woman who was miles away deliver a baby to his doorstep? It was simply illogical to Papa. Despite this though, he cared for me, ignoring the rumors that, undoubtedly, reached his ears. ~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~ I grew up quite peacefully. Papa told me that I was never a burden to him nor to my grandparents, even as a baby. I rarely cried and seldom did I wake him in the middle of the night with my needs. My grandparents came on the weekdays to care for me while Papa went off to work. It was only on Saturdays and Sundays when Papa and I actually bonded. It was on those weekends when Papa would pull me on his lap and tell me stories about his parents, his life during his childhood and his many adventures. Some were made up, others were a hundred percent real. But the ones he told me the most were the stories about my mother. ---- I guess Papa saw it fit to tell me stories about mom so that I didn’t feel so different from other kids my age. He must have thought that living without any knowledge on my mother was hard on me. I presume, since he’s had many cases involving children, he thought I'd react the same as them. I know I should have... but oddly enough, I didn't. It was as if, somehow, I knew that my mother didn't want to leave. But looking at where I am now, I'm beginning to doubt it. ---- When I turned 3, Papa enrolled me in a small preschool near my house, after much persuasion from the school's principal. I guess she saw me and Papa on one of our weekend bonding moments and decided to talk to him. The administration accepted me with open arms. They told me that just because I did not have a mother with me, that did not imply that I should not have a good education. I must admit, I quite enjoyed my three years in the preschool. Back then, no one judged me. I graduated from preschool with flying colors, bringing pride to Papa and my grandparents. At the age of 6, Papa enrolled me in one of the best private schools in Florence, saying he wanted "only the best elementary and secondary education Florence can give" for his daughter. At first, he tried homeschooling me but it backfired on him. Next, he tried asking my grandparents but that, too, didn't work. He even asked my preschool teachers if they could teach me but it seemed they had their hands full. So he contacted the principal of the school, who happened to be an old colleague of his. The school accepted me without any hesitation. The first three years of elementary school was actually.... boring. Everyone avoided me and I avoided them. You could say I was a loner, relying only on my self whenever I was at school. People didn't want to involve themselves with the weirdo, the girl who had no mother. So I kept to myself. I wasn't bullied. People just left me alone. I spent most of my time in the school library. One tends to surround one's self with stories that can take her to a different world when she has nothing to do. My Papa learned about my fondness for reading and soon bought me an entire shelf of books of varied genres. It was quite amusing to see him try and hide the gift from me. I was 8 and in third grade by this time. Later in the school year, just before Easter, I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, or ADHD for short. It was rather easy to hide at first but as the weeks came and went, it became harder to hide it. My classmates began to notice around the first week of May but they simply ignored it, thinking it was me just being weird again. After all, with summer close by, they just wrote it off as excitement. In fifth grade, after approximately four months into the school year, I began having trouble reading. Papa took me to the doctor and I was diagnosed with Dyslexia. This became a huge problem for me. I loved to read but my dyslexia prevented me from being able to understand even the most simplest of sentences. My Papa told the principal of the school regarding my condition and she said she would do whatever she could. I guess the entire staff was told about it because nearly all of my teachers never called me to read texts and they gave me private lessons either after school hours, during free periods or during weekends. During the weekend sessions, Papa would be with us and he'd try his best to help. Sadly, he could not keep up with the ways of a teacher. I was able to catch up with the rest of the class. During exams, I wore specially designed colored glasses which helped me understand and concentrate on the words. I'm not fond of using them though so I only ever bring it out during written exams. I still have it actually but I only use it in private, mostly when I feel like reading. I excelled more on oral and practical exams, due to my conditions. Papa told me that perhaps, when I grew up, I would become a lawyer like him. My oral skills were, according to both him and my teachers, impeccable and I could convince anyone if I tried hard enough. I shot the idea down almost immediately, however, since I knew that, if I did enter into law, I'd need to memorize quite a number of papers and my dyslexia simply would not allow it, even with the help of my glasses. My classmates soon found out about my private lessons and rumors began to spread yet again. Everywhere I went in school, I heard whispers about myself; how my father bribed the administration or how I used "witch craft and trickery" to convince my teachers to give me good grades. I did not try denying it simply because I knew they would not listen. I had no friend to defend me so I did not bother. I tried shrugging off the rumors since they were just that, rumors; assumptions based on loose information. ---- If you were wondering, no, my teachers said nothing on the matter despite the fact that they knew the truth about my condition. Had they told their students the truth, it would only have made matters worse. I've heard of kids being bullied just because of being ADHD or dyslexic... what more if it were both? I guess it was their way of protecting me. And yet... Fate seemed to have been against me at the time, no matter what I did. Word got to the principal and soon, to my Papa. Perhaps he expected this to happen so he had me pulled out of school in the next week. My teachers still came after classes and on Saturdays. It must have been an agreement made between the school principal and Papa. I didn't question it. I knew it was all for me anyways. ---- You could say for the next six months, I was "home schooled". By the end of the first two weeks, my father and I knew the entire teaching personnel of the school. My old principal came to check up on my progress every now and then. Astonishingly, I was doing far better than most of the people in school. This continued on until the school year ended. The same thing happened the following year. I was home schooled yet again by some old teachers and some new ones. The school made it so that I was only required to attend classes thrice a week, mainly for exam preparation purposes, Physical Education, Home Economics, Music class, Speech class and one extra-curricular activity. This agreement worked well for me even after I 'graduated' from 6th grade. The summer after I turned thirteen, Papa and I made an agreement; I would attempt to attend all of my classes, five times a week. So as seventh grade rolled in, I prepared myself mentally. Surprisingly, no one criticized me. At first I got surprised looks, both from the student body and the staff but I got used to it. Those in my class joked a bit about my glasses but it was more of a light teasing. It was as though I was the new girl, a transferee whom everyone had to be nice to in order to get a good first impression. At first, I was hesitant, having interacted very little in my time at the school. It was as though, to me, everyone was far too nice; fake, if you will. I grew suspicious of my classmates but, soon enough, I warmed up to them, and they to me. As days went by, I managed to make friends and generally be... sociable. After the first two months in school, I felt as though I belonged. No more rumors based on false assumptions were spreading and I was accepted into an environment that was not primarily my home. I was happy. ---- Seventh grade was memorable to me. It was the year I came out of my small cocoon, my self created prison, and made friends. It was the year people began noticing me, the year I began to have more confidence. People began opening up to me, began treating me like a normal 13-year-old girl. I'm more than sure I made my Papa proud of my development. Seventh grade was the year I began to truly enjoy life. It was a year that I would never forget. It was a year that I cherished... and yet, it was the year when things started to go wrong. ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~ After three months into the school year, Papa allowed me to go home alone, despite his inner parental conscience disagreeing. WIP 'Weapon:'WIP '''History Checklist: *Parents meeting *Birth *Early childhood *Discovery of lineage/identity *First monster attack *Getting to Camp ---- Quotes Trust is a fragile thing - difficult to build, easy to break. It cannot be bargained for. Only if it is freely given, it can be expected in return. - Peter Lerangis, The Sword Thief GIF Dividers *http://www.gifszone.com/content/gif/dividers/dividers_178.gif *http://files.myopera.com/ambgusmao/albums/6032962/thumbs/dividers-120.gif_thumb.jpg *http://files.myopera.com/ysabel1905/albums/10997432/thumbs/dividers-1.gif_thumb.jpg Theme Colors *http://www.colourlovers.com/pattern/3553505/Dusk_Dream Other needed pics: *Model pics *Picture of reading glasses for the dyslexic *Picture of the weapon *Picture of Themis Category:Demi-hunter13 Natalie Helling (Re-coding) http://www.colourlovers.com/palette/2805990/Orchid_Dreams Lora Mubarak (Re-coding) http://www.colourlovers.com/palette/77055/Egyptian_Treasures or http://www.colourlovers.com/palette/483790/Egyptian_Clover or http://www.colourlovers.com/palette/1786773/Ancient_Egyptians